Pack of Wolves Maggie Claire (large ebook reader txt) 📖

Wolf declares, failing to keep his anger in check. Then he grows still, sitting tall on his throne as he considers how a king should respond. Distant, cool, unaffected, Wolf chants the words as if by saying them he can compel himself into behaving this way. Lifting a hand and looking at his fingernails to give his eyes something to focus upon, he sighs and whispers, “I guess I’ll just have to keep them. After all, once I am made king, I will need servants too.”

“There is no one else to trade with besides us, so I have no fear that you may find a more competitive deal.” Matthais straightens his stance, pulling his sword out of his scabbard. While Wolf might fancy himself to be a master negotiator, he’s no match for the border guard’s leader. Years and years in the outposts have taught him how to persuade an obstinate customer. All of Matthais’s men follow his lead, flashing swords, bows, and spears into their hands in preparation for a fight. “I offer you a wholesale rate for so many bodies, Wolf. The best I am authorized to give is fourteen hundred. Take the deal and prevent a skirmish between our peoples. Or don’t and end your days with your head on the end of my sword. It’s up to you.”

Wolf sniffs, annoyed to find himself with the losing hand. “Fine. Have your men take possession of the slaves and go.”

“Slaves! That’s outrageous!” Murmurs among the damned break out, bodies shoving against Wolf’s guards in an effort to find freedom. “You said we would join your house if we plead guilty!”

“On the contrary! I said I’d let you live. I never said you’d live under my rule,” Wolf shouts over the roar. “Guards! Any slave that attempts to fight is to die immediately.”

“Better to die fighting than live in chains!” A handful of men and women hurl themselves at Hyena and his squadron. They are cut down before they reach the edge of freedom, their bodies painting the ground with blood. Most of the rest, seeing the futility of the fight, trudge brokenly to the border guards.

Matthais swaggers back to the bag of gold, deftly ripping open its ties. He raises five coins from its depths. “Refund for those that rebelled.” Before Wolf can protest, he stalks away from the throne. “Line them up, boys! You know the drill. Soldiers on either flank. Move!”

Wailing cries pour from innocent and guilty alike, families and friends torn apart. Those who chose an innocent’s death thrash in their corral, hands reaching futilely toward their loved ones as they march off to their new lives as slaves. The sounds of grief still echo in the air long after the slaves and border guards disappear back into the trees.

Most of the guilty walk with silent tears pouring down their cheeks, stumbling across the sand. Fear reigns in their eyes as they helplessly stare up at the soldiers, all the while wondering just exactly what the future holds for them. Will they find decent masters? Will they be in service at the king’s palace? Or will they be sold into gods knows what, scratching away the rest of their lives with bloodthirsty abusers? They march as the silent damned, their worries stealing whatever life is left in their bodies, souls, and hearts.

“So that’s how you’ve managed to stay so well-funded,” Goldeneye accuses from his place among the remaining prisoners waiting to be executed. “You’re selling your own people into slavery! You’re a traitor! Disgusting!”

“Shut him up,” Wolf mutters under his breath as he hoists the heavy bag of gold into his lap. “Jackal, take four men and set up traitor binds right in front of my throne. We will need something to hold our prisoners in place for the firing squad. We’ll start the executions after lunch, so get it done quickly.”

“Fox first then?” Jackal inquires, picking out the men to assist him. “I mean, his actions show a personal treachery, and I figured you’d want him to die quickly.”

“No,” Wolf answers after some thought. “Keep Fox and the rest of the House of Vultures alive until the very last. I want them to watch the rest of the ‘innocent’ die; let them feel the deaths of every soul who dares to stand against me. I want them to anticipate the moment when their time finally comes.”

***

“We should get to the House of Piranhas in about three days,” Siri explains to me as we settle into another clearing before night falls.

“That’s all my life has become now, a new field of grass and dead animal carcasses every single stinking day,” I snarl in a noncommittal response, whipping the wind until it dances through the field, chewing through blades of crunchy, dry brush.

“You’ve improved quickly,” Siri observes solemnly, carefully watching me as I continue to fashion my little breeze into a powerful dust devil. “Take it easy; don’t give yourself over to the power, Iris.”

“We have to get there as soon as we can,” I insist, trying to ignore her words. The Windwalker magic in my blood has become a tiny voice in my thoughts. It urges me to give more of myself, whispering of all the amazing things I could do if I only give in to its call. So tempting…so alluring—

“Iris!” Siri growls, snapping me out of the power’s draw.

“I’m fine,” I lie, knowing that I am not fooling my Ddraig for a moment. “But if Wolf is hurting those people—” In my mind’s eye I envision Cyrus, bloodied and broken. I see his swollen face calling out for me, his voice hoarse as he begs me to return. Unable to see my reflection to determine if my eyes are white, I am uncertain as to whether this is a vision from my Gwen abilities or if this is just my imagination. Either way, I’m determined to reach the House of Piranhas with as few stops as possible.

“Cyrus is going to need you